Got Your Number (35 page)

"Then can we go home?"

"As soon as you're up to it."

"I'm still plenty sore, but I'm ready to get out of here."

"Me, too. I'll see you in a few minutes. Oh... is Dee there?"

"Nope. She and Father went out for brunch. They promised to sneak me in a mimosa."

"Do you need anything else?"

"A box of Ho Hos would be nice."

She grinned. "I'll see what I can do." She gave Angora the number at the hotel and her room number, then hung up, feeling better than in weeks, maybe months. It was scary to think how close they'd come to being tried for a crime they didn't commit. She picked up the Magic 8 Ball and turned it over several times.

Yes, definitely.

Yes, definitely.

Yes, definitely.

"Oh,
now
you say yes," she muttered.

The phone rang, startling her so badly she dropped the ball and watched it roll under the credenza as she picked up the receiver. It was probably Angora getting in her order for a supersized bag of Cheetos. "Hello?"

"Is this Roxann Beadleman?" a woman asked.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"My name is Tanya Chasen—you called the alumni office yesterday asking for help locating Elise James."

"Yes, I know she participated in a couple of fund-raising events—I thought the office might have a record of where she's staying while she's in town."

"Are you a friend of Elise's?"

"Yes. We were roommates until about two months ago."

"Oh. Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Elise is... dead."

Her throat closed. "Wh-what happened?"

"Drug overdose. Her body was found in the bathroom of a local club a couple of nights ago, with no ID. The morgue was holding her as a Jane Doe until someone thought to bring her picture to our office. We identified her from a photo taken during a marathon last weekend." The woman's voice broke. "She came in second place."

Overdose.
Roxann was shocked, but not surprised—Elise seemed determined to play Russian roulette with every known vice, yet push herself to the limit as an athlete. She thanked the woman and hung up slowly. Carl, dead. Elise, dead. It was almost too much to absorb. She allowed the news to sink in, then sent a prayer to the ceiling for Elise, remorseful that she had suspected the woman of ransacking her apartment, and far worse—of killing Carl. Poor Elise was a mixed-up soul, searching for an excuse and a panacea, and she'd found neither in her short life.

She sighed, then chased down the Magic 8 Ball, deciding she'd feel much better once she saw Angora and Nell. She lay on her stomach, and reached under the credenza, feeling for the toy, trying not to think about what else might be under there.

Her hand met paper, and she pulled out a copy of the first page of the medical examiner's report on Carl's death. It must have fallen out of Capistrano's file. She scanned the sheet, reminded once again that Carl had died so needlessly. If she had only listened to Capistrano and set up the video meeting with Melissa earlier, this entire tragedy could have been avoided. Frank Cape needed never to have set foot in South Bend. She pressed her lips together, feeling a good cry coming on, then stopped at the sight of Carl's full name. She remembered seeing his middle initial stenciled on the glass door of his office, but she'd never asked him what it stood for.

As Roxann stared at the name, a hot flush climbed her face. At first the implication seemed too outrageous, but as her mind sifted clues and conversations and observations, her hazy theory began to take on a shape, and a face. Her insides heaved, and sweat broke out on her temples.

Angora.

Chapter 32

Her incisions were itching again. Angora wiggled in the hospital bed and tried to think the twinges away, then went back to reading the
Slim Down Now!
magazine her mother had forced upon her.

"If you eat a frozen mashed banana instead of a cup of ice cream, you would save two hundred twenty calories. If you normally indulge in ice cream once a week, you would lose a whopping four pounds a year."

Four lousy pounds? In an entire year? Who did these people think they were kidding—a frozen banana wasn't ice cream, it was a freaking frozen banana. She took a bite out of a chocolate Moon Pie, then slapped the magazine shut and rooted around for something more interesting. It was all pretty much the same crap, though—eat less, exercise more, blah, blah, blah.

Mike Brown's stack of
Progressive Farmer
lay untouched. Out of sheer boredom, she opened the cover and wrinkled her nose: "To Fertilize or Not to Fertilize," "Pasture Rotation," "Liquid Swine Waste." But one item in the table of contents caught her eye: "Marvelous Meat Loaf."

When she was around six years old, her mother had hired a little old woman named Liza who made the most incredible meat loaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. But even at six her cheeks were a bit on the chubby side, so her mother restricted her portions to mere spoonfuls no matter how much she pleaded for more. Dear Liza would sneak a plateful to her room after dinner. But when Dee caught Angora under the covers sopping gravy with a piece of white bread, she'd fired Liza on the spot and hired a bony woman who considered spinach a staple. Ugh.

With mouth watering, she turned to the recipe. Knowing how to make meat loaf seemed like a good basic skill to have. Oooh, there was a picture—a nice juicy hunk of meat with a drizzle of red sauce baked on top, served up with creamy mashed potatoes swimming in brown gravy. Heaven. On. Earth.

A knock on the door sent her scrambling—her parents were back. "Come in," she sang, shoving the Moon Pie and the magazine under her pillow. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her gown and pasted on a sublime smile.

But the last person in the world she expected to walk in was Trenton, impeccably dressed in tan slacks and a mint-green cashmere sweater she had bought him for his birthday.

"Hello, Angora."

Her jaw dropped and her mind raced, searching for all those vile things she'd imagined saying to him if and when she ever saw him. "Uh, hi."

"Guess you're surprised to see me."

She nodded, speechless.

He walked to the end of her bed. "I heard about all your trouble and wanted to come and see for myself that you were okay."

So he did care. "Wh-when did you get here?"

"I flew in about an hour ago."

"Where's Darma?"

"We're not together anymore."

Her heart surged. "Why not?" Because he'd come to his senses and realized that Angora was the love of his life.

"She wanted me to sign a prenup, and that was that." He gestured to her stomach. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. I had my gallbladder removed, and a cup of gallstones."

"Your mother and I warned you about eating like a garbage pail."

If she hadn't gone on that diet before the wedding, she would've been fine. "Then I developed complications. An infection—doctor said he'd never seen one so bad."

"Yeah, that can be serious. Did they have you on an IV?"

"Until yesterday."

"That explains why you're so bloated."

She frowned. "Did you hear I was arrested for murder?"

"Your mother said the charges were being dropped."

"They are, but for a while, I was a primary suspect."

He laughed. "Yeah, the police up here must be a bunch of clowns if they thought you were capable of murder. Everybody at the club had a big hoot over that one." He laughed again, dabbing at his eyes. What might have been a compliment was canceled out by his sarcasm—as if she weren't smart enough to pull off a murder.

"I was the last person who saw the professor alive. We were on a date."

He put his hands in his pockets. "Did the two of you, um... you know?"

"Have sex? That's none of your business."

Trenton cleared his throat. "The papers said you bought him at a bachelor auction or something."

She finally smiled. "I hocked my engagement ring, so I had a little extra cash lying around."

He pulled on his collar. "Okay, I deserve that. But I'll get you a bigger ring."

"Huh?"

"I made a big mistake, Angora, and I wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive me, but I want us to get back together."

Mixed emotions filled her chest—hadn't she fantasized that he'd come crawling back to her?

"We're perfect for each other, Angora. You know me, you know what I'm thinking."

"I didn't know what you were thinking last Saturday."

"After all these years of waiting, you didn't sleep with that man, did you?"

She shook her head.

He exhaled in relief. "See? Deep down you couldn't. You knew you were meant for me. We could have a small ceremony, then go on to Hawaii for say, ten days, and have a huge reception when we get back."

"But I don't have a dress—"

"I'll buy you a Versace."

"And the church—"

"Your mom said we could have the ceremony at your house."

"You talked to my parents before you talked to me?"

He sighed. "I knew I had to repair my relationship with the entire family. Your parents were very understanding. What do you say, Angora? We can move to Chicago and start new careers together. You'll love the shopping there."

She lifted her chin. "I could move to Chicago all by myself."

"But you'd have to rely on your allowance to get by."

He was right, darn it. The job at the art agency was mostly commission, and it would take her a while to build a client list.

"Marry me, Angora, and you'll live like a queen."

"But Trenton... do you love me?"

He scoffed. "Of course I love you. We're so much alike, not loving you would be like not loving myself."

She bit into her lip and studied his face—he was so handsome, so smart, so well connected. And he had such good taste. She might look the rest of her life and not find anyone as wonderful as Trenton. And so what if he'd humiliated her—wouldn't she have the last laugh once they were married?
She won him back,
they would say at the club.

Another knock sounded, and her parents appeared. Dee wore a hopeful expression. "Aren't you glad to see Trenton, darling?"

She conjured up a smile.

"And isn't it wonderful that the two of you will be able to work things out after all?"

Marrying Trenton would make her mother so happy—it would certainly make up for all the trouble she'd caused them lately. That whole arrest scene had hit her father hard—he was looking old these days.

And wasn't Chicago the chance to do something with her life? Okay, so the art world wasn't as glamorous as she'd imagined—most of the artists finger-painted to support their body-piercing addictions—but the Chicago job was a great opportunity and what else was she halfway qualified to do?

"Yes," she said to her mother. "It's wonderful."

Trenton's shoulders fell in relief and his smile did lift her spirits. "You won't regret this, Angora."

Her mother beamed. "Trenton is going to stay until tomorrow evening and we'll all fly home together."

But Angora shook her head. "I'm going to ride back with Roxann."

Dee scowled. "You can't be serious. That tramp is the one who got you into this mess."

"I've made up my mind, Mother. Once I move to Chicago, I might never see Roxann again. I don't expect you to understand, but I want to do this."

"I don't know—"

"Dixie," her father said. "You heard your daughter."

Angora jumped on the momentum. "You all should head back now so Daddy can go into the office tomorrow and so you can start getting things ready for the ceremony. Pick out the dress, the flowers, whatever you want is fine."

Her mother seemed surprised. Granted, they'd argued for hours over the details the first time around. "Well... all right, dear."

"Are you sure the drive won't be too uncomfortable?" her father asked, dear man.

"Roxann will take care of me."

"But I just got here," Trenton said.

She smiled. "And we have the rest of our lives together. Roxann and my attorney will be here soon, and I'd like to rest." Besides, she knew her mother didn't want an encounter with either one of her impending visitors.

The three of them looked at each other, perplexed, but they relented and said goodbye. Her father hugged her carefully. Her mother kissed the air next to her cheek. And Trenton kissed her on the forehead. "I'll see you later this week."

She nodded and held her breath until the door closed. She was so used to being ignored, all the attention was downright suffocating. After rescuing the Moon Pie and the magazine from behind her pillow, she snuggled down in the covers and munched slowly.

So, she was going to marry a doctor after all. Everything would be just the way she'd planned, and she'd live happily ever after with Trenton. They would be fine—she'd forgive him for being infatuated with Darma. After all, she'd been infatuated with Carl.

Things would be... fine.

She scoured the meat loaf recipe and decided it was something she could try on her own, then she checked other issues of the magazine and found a mother lode of wonderful comfort-food recipes—homemade macaroni and cheese, buttermilk biscuits, hot brown, sweet potato pie. When she had her own kitchen, she could make whatever she wanted to eat. And if Trenton didn't like it, she'd simply sneak and eat it alone.